


Snipple Piercings

by noodlefrog



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Nipple Piercings, Other, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Snake-Trait Anxiety, getting emotional about nipple piercings, slightly silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlefrog/pseuds/noodlefrog
Summary: After the Ritz, Crowley discovers his angel has made a couple of changes to his corporation... Human-style. Feelings ensue.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 178
Collections: The Snake Pit





	Snipple Piercings

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to let that stupid pun become the real title, but here we are. 
> 
> For the Great Good Omens Snake-Off. Tell a snake you love them today.

Crowley didn’t have many hopes or expectations for what would happen following their celebratory lunch-turned-dinner at the Ritz. It wasn’t that he hadn’t ever _considered_ the possibility of a life without Hell breathing down his neck. In fact, for the past six thousand years, _“Quitting Hell”_ had maintained the second-highest position on his list of recurring dreams, daydreams, and escapist fantasies ranked by both frequency and intensity, right behind _“Spending Time With the Principality Aziraphale”_ and narrowly beating out _“The Various Sundry Parts of the Principality Aziraphale & What He Might Do With Them (And Me, Maybe)”._ It was just that… well, he hadn’t expected to get this far, did he? Just surviving was good enough, and if his future after the Ritz happened to include more alcohol and more Aziraphale, well. Why waste time speculating when he could be enjoying these moments he never thought he’d get?

The past twenty-four or so hours had been a bit of a blur, and to be completely honest, Crowley couldn’t say how much of that he could blame on meddling from the Antichrist and how much was the result of sustained adrenaline levels that could have killed a human. The world was saved, they’d stared down Satan himself, and lied their way out of certain death. Aziraphale’s bookshop had burned, and then unburned, and so had the Bentley. _Aziraphale_ had been discorporated, and then recorporated, and in the interim between the two Crowley had gotten so drunk he thought he was in danger of discorporation himself. And he—yeah, he also definitely murdered Ligur in there, somewhere. He’d spared a few moments earlier to wonder, vaguely, if Adam had put him back the way he was, too.

He wasn’t thinking about that anymore, though. The important thing was that the world didn’t end, and life was good. Better than good, actually, with a forecast for _“great”_ and maybe even _“spectacular”_ in the near future, if present circumstances were anything to judge by. Ever since Aziraphale had shut the newly reconstituted bookshop door behind them, _present circumstances_ seemed to be heading in a distinctly more horizontal-ish direction.

Aziraphale’s hands, strong and gentle with that faint shimmer of polish from his last manicure so thoughtfully replicated in his new corporation, were holding onto Crowley’s hips as he pulled them both down onto the settee. Aziraphale’s lips were soft and warm and improbably kissing Crowley’s, and despite the fact that he didn’t have many of his higher faculties online at the moment, Crowley was kissing him back. Everything was pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, and alright, it also felt a bit like he’d been clubbed over the head, but Crowley didn’t have it in him to complain.

It wasn’t that he was drunk—true, the sparkling champagne-bubble haze the world seemed to have taken on _may_ have been influenced by the actual champagne he’d had during lunch-dinner, but he’d been feeling like this before he’d had his first sip. He’d been high on adrenaline and vindication and had still felt the bracing sting of Hellfire on his cheeks as he rode the elevator down to Earth, but when he’d seen his own body walking back towards him across St. James’ Park, when he first had it confirmed that it was real, that it had worked, that they’d _won_ , he felt lighter than he had since before he Fell. Joy, bright, uncomplicated joy began to buoy him upwards and he’d found himself laughing and smiling at the sheer impossibility of what they’d done. To his dazed delight, Aziraphale had been laughing and smiling back, and Crowley might have been a bit drunk on that, too. That and the way he let his eyes linger now, longer than he ever had before.

_He’s not afraid anymore,_ he had realized, sometime between the lunch and dinner parts of their lunch-and-dinner. _I’ve never seen him like this, without all that fear._

And then there had been dinner, and Aziraphale had sweetly bullied him into trying little bites off of his plate, nibbles of all of the things he knew Crowley secretly enjoyed. And after dinner, starlight and birdsong had been their companions as they walked side by side… until starlight and birdsong both had been firmly shut out behind the bookshop door, leaving only Crowley and Aziraphale and this strange new thing they were suddenly allowed to be.

At present, Crowley found himself whining because the kissing had stopped. Why had the kissing stopped? How could it stop when they only just got the chance to start?

“Darling,” Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley felt his own breath catch in response at the sound of it. _“Darling._ Are you feeling alright? Is this… alright?”

Oh, right. The kissing had stopped to make the words happen. Aziraphale probably wanted words back, too. _Right._

“M’fine,” he said, eloquently, and followed it up with a very succinct and lucid, “S’good.”

Aziraphale laughed and kissed him again, and his hands were everywhere—rubbing circles into Crowley’s back, gently scratching his scalp, running down his arms, squeezing his hipbones…

“Can I?” the angel asked, his hands hesitating as they reached for his sunglasses.

Crowley swallowed. It wasn’t anything Aziraphale hadn’t seen before, but he was sure his eyes were all snake at the moment. He wouldn’t have thought it would be the most pleasant thing to look up at while kissing, but he’d spent most of the time with his eyes closed anyway. Besides, it was what Aziraphale wanted, and Crowley was feeling giddy at the thought he was wanted at all. He nodded, and Aziraphale took them away. There was a quiet clatter, as if they’d fallen from his fingers and onto the floor, and it almost drowned out the sound of Aziraphale’s whisper.

_“Beautiful.”_

That… that shouldn’t make him blush. He shouldn’t be _able_ to blush! He was a demon from the pits of Hell, _why_ was that a feature his corporation had installed? Crowley sat back a little, looked down at the angel beneath him, and the look of wonder in his eyes.

Aziraphale’s hands pulled him out of his trance, the feeling of them as they slipped under Crowley’s jacket. The question was silent this time, asked in the quirk of an eyebrow and the tilt of the angel’s head. Crowley was all out of eloquent and lucid words, and so answered by wriggling out of the damn thing like a shed skin and hurling it halfway across the room.

Crowley looked back down just in time to see Aziraphale pulling his bowtie free, to see that first peek of his bare throat at his open collar. He felt a pang, a _loss_ almost, that he hadn’t gotten to do that himself. Apparently, that thought had made itself visible on his face, because Aziraphale chuckled and said, _“Next time, my dear. I promise.”_

Dizzy with the promise of _next time_ and _my dear,_ he leaned down to kiss Aziraphale again. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the next time he surfaced—they didn’t need to breathe, they could do this forever if they wanted, and the feel of that tongue in his mouth definitely made him want to test those limits.

“Mmm?” Crowley asked against the angel’s lips, his fingers on the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat, tracing the velvet he’d thought about touching for nearly two centuries. In answer, Aziraphale gave a pleased wriggle and helped Crowley along with the buttons—he started from the top, and Crowley from the bottom, and when their hands fumbled together in the middle, the angel brought Crowley’s hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss into his palm.

_He’s trying to kill me,_ Crowley thought, unable to stop the appearance of another whine, or the almost involuntary rock of his hips down where he was— _fuck,_ he’s somehow begun straddling the angel. This was definitely a straddle situation happening. But Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, his hips gave a little roll of their own in response, and Crowley had to brace himself against the angel’s broad chest.

Aziraphale still had all his layers on, coat and waistcoat included, but they hung open over the well-worn softness of his shirt. Crowley’s hands began to roam, feeling the curve of his belly and the hardness of his collarbone, cupped the swell of one pectoral...

Was he wearing braces under his shirt? There was something hard under there, and when he ran his fingers along that unfamiliar round shape, Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut as he gave a breathy little moan. As it turned out, there was another one on the other side, and it produced a similar effect when touched. However, after the first few seconds of this business had passed, during which time Crowley had done little more than to continue experimentally fiddling with them, Aziraphale fixed the demon with a fondly frustrated look.

_“Yes,”_ he sighed. “My nipples are pierced.”

Crowley pulled his hands back, afraid that he’d hurt him somehow. The angel caught him by his wrists and guided his fingers back to where they had been.

“They are completely healed, I assure you. There is no need for concern. I just thought I should explain, since you seemed to be confused by them.”

_“Confused_ —I’m not confused by them, angel. I know what piercings are! I just thought you were—”

“Were what?” Aziraphale interrupted, and there was a trace of annoyance in his tone. “Did you think that I was too _angelic_ for such a thing? I assure you, there is nothing wrong or sinful about body modification.”

What Crowley had actually been about to say was, _I just thought you were wearing your braces wrong._ However, Aziraphale hadn’t actually been that far off the mark. For as many times as he’d imagined the angel shirtless—and before that, robe-less or tunic-less—he hadn’t ever considered nipple piercings a possibility. More than that, he hadn’t much considered the possibility that Aziraphale ever chose to alter his corporation beyond its default settings, especially not the human way.

Crowley smiled and shook his head. “No. I thought you were too bloody stubborn to do it. You haven’t changed your hair since I’ve known you.” To punctuate his point, he ran his fingers through those platinum curls—sure enough, they reformed to their exact prior configuration.

“I suppose you aren’t wrong there. But I am learning…” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered away and then back again, a smile ticking up the corners of his mouth. “…the value in trying new things.” _Flirt._

“Anything in particular you’re interested in trying?” Crowley purred, slowly unbuttoning the angel’s shirt.

“I can think of a few things.” He gave another happy wiggle as the demon’s hands found his bare chest, fingers trailing through the pale blond hair at his sternum. _“Have thought_ of a few things…”

He helped the angel sit up as they pushed the top half of Aziraphale’s kit off his shoulders. Crowley paused, lips parted, as he saw those flashes of gold for the first time. They were delicate things, little coiled rings wrapped around each pink nipple, but it was undeniable what they were designed to look like.

_Snakes,_ mouths open like they were ready to bite.

Crowley inhaled sharply, and Aziraphale looked at him with concern. He shook his head. _Nothing’s wrong,_ he hoped it said. _I just never would have thought…_

He remembered time after time through history, hiding himself from the humans. Eyes, hidden behind dark lenses. Feet he taught to shape themselves to look like shoes. A tongue he could more or less bully into compliance, but that would betray him with a hiss when he least expected it.

And through it all, an angel who had seen him first as he crawled in the dust on his belly. He could change his shape, but he would never be able to hide it from Aziraphale. Who— _what_ —he was. In his more pessimistic moments, he wondered if that was all Aziraphale saw him as: demon, tempter, serpent, _snake._

When he let himself imagine what it might be like to be wanted by the angel, he always thought that those parts of himself would merely be tolerated. _I love you in spite of…_ said the Aziraphale in his mind, and he always let himself savor the taste of those first three words and ignore the sting of the rest.

Looking at it them now, though, those twin serpents nestled in the angel’s flesh, he could see that they were older. Not ancient, no, but there was a hatching of scales carved into their heads that had been worn smooth by the touch of a hand over time. Like a worry stone, like a patch of bald velvet on a favorite garment… how often did he touch them? Always when he was wearing them, or did he take them out and roll them in his palms? What did he think of when he saw them against his skin?

“How long?” Crowley asked instead, once his tongue would move for him again.

Aziraphale glanced down at his own bare chest, then back up to Crowley. “How long have I had my nipples pierced, or how long have I had this specific pair?”

“… Yes?”

“1890, and 1967.” The silence hung heavy for a moment, and then Aziraphale chuckled weakly. “I had them made, ah… _after._ I was terribly afraid, you know. That I’d done the wrong thing. That you’d… that you’d be hurt.”

“I never wanted it for me,” Crowley soothed, rubbing his thumb along the side of Aziraphale’s neck. The angel closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“I know, I—I had to trust you had your reasons, but Crowley, I was so afraid. I was so afraid of what might happen, of what I felt…” He absently raised a hand to his chest and touched where the metal met his skin. “I wanted to keep you close with me, even though I knew I had to keep sending you away. I couldn’t—there wasn’t any way I could do anything where—where it might be seen.”

Crowley covered Aziraphale’s hand with his own, pressed against his chest like a promise, and felt the beating of the angel’s heart beneath his fingertips. “You always had me.”

He leaned in close and kissed Aziraphale deep and slow, relishing the slide of the angel’s hands through his hair.

There would be time, later, for them to remember the flat over the bookshop, and the bed in the flat. There would be a hasty miracle, the heavy thud of dozens of books finding new homes, a puff of displaced dust that Crowley could taste on his tongue even all the way downstairs, and a sheepish smile from an angel. There would also be time in the future for him to flick one of those serpent nipple rings with a finger, make a crude joke about his nonexistent gag reflex, and earn himself a giggle and a playful swat on the rear as they made their way up the stairs.

The future was looking _spectacular,_ by the way, and it seemed to have all of Crowley’s favorite things in it. There would be Aziraphale, and yes, more alcohol, but also things he never expected. Nights by the fireplace, when he let himself transform and coil himself up in the angel’s lap and fall asleep to the feeling of those gentle hands on his scales. The certainty that Aziraphale saw him—as a serpent, as a demon, as his lover, as his husband, as Crowley—all at once, with no need to hide a thing. _I love you because…_ said the Aziraphale in his future, and he found new ways to say it every day.

As for right at that moment, though, Crowley was in no rush at all to reach the future. He was content enough to drift in the present, listen to whispered declarations and confessions and confirmations breathed against the skin of his neck. He’d had no hopes or expectations for this, no inkling of what was to come, but what he had found—what _they_ had found—had been everything he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Getting your nipples pierced spiked in popularity at the end of the 19th century, and Aziraphale had a lot of non-demon-filled free time in between visits his gay club...
> 
> Thanks to everyone in the GO Events discord and the relentless snake puns (snuns?) in the Snek-Works channel.


End file.
